Читать книгу Red-Hot Honeymoon: The Honeymoon Arrangement / Marriage in Name Only? / The Honeymoon That Wasn't - Debbi Rawlins, Anne Oliver - Страница 16

THEY DINED OUTSIDE the following evening, at a beautifully laid table on the lawn of the lodge, under another magnificent star-heavy sky. In the distance they could see a storm, the lightning lighting up huge thunderclouds. They could taste the rain in the air but were assured that dinner would be long over before the storm hit, so they sat back to enjoy the exceptional food placed in front of them.

Finn noticed that the lead singer of a popular band sat with a pouty waif at the next table, and beyond them he recognised an English politician with a woman who was definitely not his wife. If he were a tabloid journalist he would be having a field-day right now; he might be feeling a bit sleazy but he’d be making a fortune, he thought.

He looked across at Callie, who was leaning back in her chair, holding her wine glass, her eyes fixed on the storm on the horizon. God, she was beautiful, he thought. He’d always thought that she was attractive, but now, after seeing her without make-up and dozy with sleep, or animated and thrilled while she bottle-fed two orphaned cheetah cubs, or pensive while watching a pride of lions take down a zebra, he was slowly realising that she was more than pretty and deeper than he’d thought.

He’d thought that he would be taking a bubbly flirt on holiday with him, but the woman he was with—even if he’d only spent two full days in her company—was less bubble, more substance. And sexier than he’d believed possible.

Finn dropped his hand and surreptitiously rearranged himself under the table, feeling as if his pants were suddenly a size too small. Since he’d woken up with her clinging to him like an octopus he’d been super-aware of her all day. The length of her legs, the freckles on her chest, her white-tipped fingernails. God, if he was noticing a woman’s nails then he was in deep, deep crap.

He’d thought he was going on holiday with Flirty Callie but instead he found himself with Intriguing Callie, and he wasn’t sure he could handle her. Flirty Callie he could brush off—ignore if he had to. This other Callie had him wanting to dig a little, to see what was below the surface.

Finn took a sip of his Cabernet and pushed his dessert plate away. Then he manoeuvred his chair so that he was sitting next to her, facing the storm. He could smell her perfume and feel the heat of her bare shoulder when he touched it with his.

He slid his hand under hers and linked her fingers with his. He saw the quick, searching look she sent him and ignored it. If she asked he’d say that this was what married people did—touched each other—but the truth was that he couldn’t sit there and not touch her.

‘Tell me about your jewellery box.’

There was so much else he wanted to know about her—he had a list of burning questions—but this topic seemed the safest, the most innocuous.

He heard her quick intake of breath, felt her eyes on his face.

He slowly turned his head and lifted his eyebrows. ‘Why would a woman who loves clothes and shoes and accessories not wear some of that fabulous jewellery?’

Callie crossed one leg over the other and her swinging foot told him she was considering her response, choosing her words. He didn’t want the bog standard answer she obviously wanted to hand him—he wanted the truth. He’d rather not know than have her spin him a line.

‘Don’t wrap the truth up in a pretty bow—give it to me straight.’

The foot stopped swinging and the sigh was louder this time. She took so long to say anything that Finn began to doubt that she would speak at all. When she did, her voice was low and tight with tension.

‘That was the first time I’d seen the box for … oh, fifteen years. It lived on my mum’s dressing table and as a little girl I’d spend hours playing with her bangles and necklaces. Her rings.’

Finn tried not to wince at the thought of little Callie playing with the two and three carat diamonds he’d seen.

‘Some of the jewellery was my grandmother’s—my father’s mother’s—passed down through the family. A lot of it is my mother’s. My father constantly bought her jewellery in an attempt to make her happy.’

Ah, well … ‘I take it that the buying of jewellery didn’t work?’

‘Not so much. Neither did the pretty clothes and the gym membership and the credit cards.’ Callie shrugged. ‘She didn’t want to be a wife … a mother. To be chained to my dad, the house, us. She gave birth to the expected son and was horrified, I once heard, to find herself pregnant with me. She’d never really wanted children, and apparently finding herself pregnant with me was a disaster of magnificent proportions.’

‘Who told you that?’

Callie crossed her legs and shuffled in her chair. ‘People say that kids don’t remember stuff, but I do. She screamed that during one of their fights.’

‘I’m sorry.’ It was all he could say—all he could think of to say. Finn removed his hand from hers and put his arm around her shoulder, leaning sideways to kiss her temple. ‘But people do say stuff they don’t mean in the heat of the moment.’

‘Except that her leaving me—us—made that statement true.’ Callie took a large, serious sip from her glass. ‘Anyway, the jewellery—she left it behind. It meant nothing to her. So why should it mean anything to me?’

God. Imagine knowing that your mother was out there somewhere but not interested in knowing whether you were dead or alive, happy or sad. People should have to take a test before they were allowed to become parents, Finn thought. His father should head up the queue.

Callie turned her head and blinded him with a big smile, perfect teeth flashing. ‘Now, don’t you go all sympathetic on me, Banning. I had a father who adored me and spoilt me rotten, an older brother who adored me and spoilt me rotten, and a housekeeper-cum-nanny who—’

‘Let me guess,’ Finn interrupted, making sure that his tone was bone-dry. ‘Who adored you and spoilt you rotten?’

Callie laughed. ‘I have a fabulous life, and I’m on holiday with a nice man.’

‘I prefer sexy.’

This time her smile was more genuine. ‘So I have nothing to complain about!’

Being abandoned by your mum is a pretty big deal, Callie, Finn told her silently. Even if you choose to think it isn’t. The one person who is supposed to put you first, love you best, stand in your corner left you. That’s got to cause some deep scars on your psyche.

Feeling the need to banish the sadness from her eyes, Finn nudged her with his shoulder. ‘Want to take a walk down to the lookout over the waterhole and see if any wildlife has come down for a drink?’

Callie immediately nodded and a sparkle returned to her eyes. ‘Yeah, let’s do that.’ She stood up and folded her arms. ‘How come I find myself telling you stuff?’

Finn wanted to make a joke but he couldn’t. ‘I don’t know, but rest assured you’re not alone. I keep doing the same thing.’

Callie bit her lip. ‘Maybe we should stop?’

Finn held out his hand. ‘Yeah, maybe we should. The thing is, I don’t know if we can.’

There was nobody in the lookout and nothing at the waterhole except for a lone bull elephant. They watched him and the storm for a while, but Callie’s thoughts were miles away. On Finn and their bizarre situation, and on the fact that every time they drew a line in the sand they managed either to smudge it or step right over it.

Maybe it was time to draw a line that couldn’t be removed, stepped over or just plain ignored. But how to do that?

Callie yawned and felt his arm come around her shoulders. Without thought she circled her arms around his trim waist and laid her cheek on his chest.

Smudging that line again, Hollis?

Callie felt Finn’s kiss on her hair. ‘Tired?’

‘Mmm …’

Callie moved her hands to his abs and Finn sucked in his breath. In response she scraped her nails across his cotton-covered skin. A quick glance down and she realised, by the tenting of his pants, that he had a hair trigger response to her touch.

This wasn’t smudging the line—this was obliterating it. Was she prepared to go there? She had about five seconds either to take this to the next level or to back away.

Callie knew herself well enough to know that she wasn’t going to step away. She was facing a fire and for the first time in, God, so long she was going to jump right in. But this time she was going to be a little wiser and don a fire suit.

‘Finn?’

‘Yeah?’ His voice was husky with desire and so sexy.

‘That thing that happened in the dressing room … thinking about it.’

She knew exactly when he stopped breathing, when he finally sucked in much needed air. ‘Okay. Where are you going with this?’

‘Our room only has one bed, and if I climb into it with you I’m going to be all over you.’

Callie forced herself to walk out of his grip, to pick up the bottle of beer he’d brought with him and take the last sip. To keep herself from jumping him, she held the bottle in a loose grip.

Finn groaned. ‘Good to know. Want to get going, then?’

She smiled at the hopeful note in his voice before quietly murmuring, ‘Holiday romances seldom work out.’

‘That’s what I’ve heard.’

‘People tend to put on rose-coloured glasses and, because they know their time together is short, the experience can be intense, powerful.’

‘I guess.’

Callie rolled the bottle between her palms. ‘I’m at a bit of a crossroads in my life and I’m questioning so much. I’m not thinking as straight as I usually do, so don’t let me get forget that this is a couple of weeks of pure fun, okay? Don’t let me get seduced by the luxury and the romance and the fact that I like you.’

That was the line in the sand, she decided. They could chat and talk, share confidences and make incredible love, but she had to remember that this was going to end. It was too easy to forget who they were and why they were here. It was not real life. They were on a fake honeymoon—emphasis on the fake—surrounded by romance and luxury. She could easily get swept away and inadvertently slip on a pair of those rose-coloured glasses.

They were two strangers who hardly knew each other—not a couple on their honeymoon. They could have fun, even sex, but they had to keep it real. She wasn’t in a place to consider a relationship beyond the three weeks. Sure, it would be easy to fall for Finn, but it wouldn’t last because it wasn’t based on anything real.

She—they—had to keep their eyes open, their heads in the game. If she had sex with him she would finally know how he felt, tasted, moved. and then she could stop thinking about him—and sex—all the damn time.

Callie turned her head and sent him a direct look. ‘We’re on the same page?’

He rubbed his hand over his jaw before nodding briskly. ‘Yeah. Just to be clear, are you saying that you’ll sleep with me?’

The tip of her tongue touched her top lip and her skin flushed with anticipated pleasure. Yeah, that was the plan. Callie held his eyes.

‘Well, sleep isn’t what we’ll be doing, exactly.’ He made a move towards her but her lifted hand stopped him in his tracks. ‘I don’t want to be seduced, Finn.’

She saw a moment of confusion and then his face cleared. ‘No hearts and flowers, no expectations.’

How did he seem to know without her having to explain? It was unsettling, but reassuring at the same time.

Finn touched her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. ‘Only in my bed, honey. I promise. Sex is on the table—everything else is off it.’

They could do this, Callie thought as they made their way out of the hide and across the lawns to their new room behind the main lodge. If they were smart and sensible, and if they kept their heads, they could have three weeks of fun and walk away unscathed.

They had to do this, Callie amended as Finn took her hand in his. They didn’t have another option.

In their private chalet within the protected grounds of the lodge Finn took her hand and led her out onto a dark, private veranda, where moonlight glistened off the bubbles created by the hot tub that sat in one corner. Callie watched his face as he reached behind her and slid down the zip of her simple A-line dress, pulling the collar away from her neck and allowing the silky sage-green fabric to fall to the wooden deck. She stood in her violet strapless bra and matching panties, open to his appreciative gaze, watching his eyes as one index finger traced her collarbone, her shoulder, the top of her right breast.

He looked entranced, engrossed, fully involved in touching her, learning her shape, making her a memory. Don’t get fanciful, she warned herself, closing her eyes as his finger touched her nipple and it tightened and peaked immediately.

‘This is about sex, about pleasure, about a three-week affair,’ Callie gabbled, closing her eyes at the intense pleasure his touch aroused in her.

‘Shut up, Callie,’ Finn murmured gently.

You’ve had these before, remember? she told herself. You sleep with him until it stops being fun and then you stop. It’s not rocket science.

Except that Finn touching her didn’t feel like just another sex act, just another pursuit of physical pleasure. It felt like something more. Deeper, more important.

Finn’s mouth brushed her ear. ‘Stop thinking,’ he muttered. ‘Just feel me touching you, enjoying your smooth skin, tasting you, smelling you. You do the same to me.’

His breath tickled her cheek and the touch of his finger on her skin had heat pooling between her thighs, causing a rush of moisture to her panties. He had barely even started and she was already ready for him to take her—right now. Oh, this was going to be amazing, incredible …

‘I think you should kiss me,’ Callie said against his cheekbone.

‘I think I’ll go up like a cracker,’ was Finn’s wry reply.

Callie dropped her gaze to his pants and sucked in her breath. Unable to stop herself, she ran her finger down the long, rock-hard length of him.

Finn grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away. ‘Yeah, also not a good idea.’

‘I need you to—’

‘Honey, I know exactly what you need.’ Finn lifted his hand and tipped her chin up. Their eyes slammed together and held. ‘Trust me to take care of you.’

‘I do …’

‘You sure?’

‘If you can make me forget who I am in a semi-public dressing room, I have no doubt that you can do it now.’

Finn waited a beat before he shot his arm out, encircled her hips and slammed her into him. As her mound made contact with his erection his tongue swept into her mouth. He tasted and tormented her, swirling her away on a whirlpool of pleasure. His hand slid into the back of her panties and he palmed her butt with his broad hands, dipping lower, stretching the silk over his wrists so that he could touch her inner thighs and explore her feminine folds.

Callie shuddered as she fumbled for the buttons on his shirt, ripping off the last one in her haste to feel his broad chest and his hard, ribbed stomach.

‘Want you … want you … want you …’ she chanted, standing on her tiptoes to nibble his jaw, to swirl her tongue down his neck.

Finn pulled his hands out from her panties and with one deft flick her bra fell between them. Callie couldn’t have cared less; her nipples were rubbing through the hair on his chest and if he didn’t touch her soon, in all those important burning places, she was going to scream.

Loudly.

Unable to wait, she took one of Finn’s hands and placed it on her breast, tried to direct his other hand to her crotch. But instead of taking her direction Finn stepped away from her and shook his head.

‘No—you’re saying no?’ Callie cried, her fists on her hips. She couldn’t believe that he was stepping away, that he was backing off.

Finn had the audacity to laugh at her before his eyes turned serious. ‘I have a feeling that you normally call the shots in the bedroom, but this time—this first time—I’m running the show, angel.’

His thumb rubbed her cheekbone and she forgot her thought.

‘You said that you trusted me. Take your panties off.’

Callie looked at him, her mouth drying at his command. She was always in the driving seat when it came to sex—she set the pace—and it felt strange and wildly intoxicating to relinquish control. Her heart was pumping at a mile a minute.

She licked her lips before hooking her thumbs in the band of her panties and shimmying them over her hips. Finn looked at her lightning-shaped strip of pubic hair and his lips twitched. When he lifted his eyes again the humour had been replaced by flat-out desire.

‘That’s new.’

‘Shut up …’ Callie growled. They could discuss her beautician’s creative streak later.

‘Go and sit on the edge of the hot tub—feet in the water, legs open.’

Callie turned her back to him, walked up the steps to the tub and stepped over the ledge, dropping her feet into the hot, gorgeous water. She sighed her pleasure and couldn’t help wondering what was coming next.

‘Yeah, keep your eyes closed,’ Finn told her. ‘This is about you—only you.’

God, could she stand it? Callie thought as she obeyed his instruction. Immediately her other senses were heightened: she could taste the approaching storm on her lips, could smell the citronella in the candles that she heard Finn lighting, could feel bubbles popping against her feet and her calves.

The crickets were in full chorus again, and she thought she heard the bark of a zebra.

Callie had no idea where Finn was. She had heard the rustle of his clothing as he undressed, but after that nothing more. He’d gone Ninja on her, but she couldn’t open her eyes—not until he told her to.

‘Open your legs, Cal.’

Callie shivered as his voice caressed her skin, causing goosebumps up and down her arms. ‘Wider, honey. Yeah. So pretty. No, don’t open your eyes. Let me look at you.’

Callie sat on the edge of the tub, her eyes closed, feeling wild and free and as much a part of this savage place as the predators and the prey. Time slowed and the seconds ticked over sluggishly. She was content just to sit there and let her about-to-be lover look at her.

An owl screeched, a candle spluttered, and Callie yelped as hard hands pulled her knees further apart and a dark head appeared between her thighs. Then his mouth, hot, wild and experienced, dropped onto her sex and she bucked against him, her cries blending into the sounds of the night.

Callie gripped the sides of the tub as Finn pleasured her with his lips, his tongue, slid first one finger into her, then two. She arched her back as her orgasm built, desperate for Finn to push her over the edge. But just as she crested he pulled back, and she keened her disappointment. He allowed her to fall, just a little, before building her up again.

He repeated the torture until he lifted his head, looked her straight in the eye and, with his fingers still inside her, issued another order. ‘Come for me. Now.’

And Callie responded, just as he knew she would, instantly gushing over his hand, her inner muscles gripping his fingers and seeking all the pleasure he could give her. Finn kept his eyes locked on hers, thoroughly captivated by her uninhibited response.

When she finally stopped shaking he pulled his hand away and lifted his arm to grab her waist and pull her into the middle of the tub. She wound her legs around his hips and felt the divine friction as her clit rubbed against his penis, revving her up again. She rode him and felt vindicated, powerful, when his eyes crossed.

Taking him in her fist, she positioned him so that his tip was at her entrance. His bicep bulged with the effort of keeping from ramming himself inside her.

‘No condom,’ he muttered, his arms shaking.

‘I’m on the pill,’ she told him. ‘And I’m clean. I haven’t had sex for over six months and I had a medical three months ago. You?’

‘Same. Clean. Trust me?’

Callie didn’t bother to reply. She just slid onto him and smiled at his expression, which combined relief with pure, unadulterated pleasure.

‘God, you feel so good.’

Finn lifted a wet hand and pushed her hair back from her face. ‘You ready to go again?”

‘So ready.’

He lunged up and into her, his arms a vice around her waist. ‘Then hang on, baby.’

Callie managed to push herself away just enough to look into his eyes. She touched his mouth with the tips of her fingers. ‘Finn?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Come for me. Now.’

And, with a roar that was as wild as the bush around them, Finn did exactly as she commanded.

‘In the nineteenth century the local tribe in the area knew it as Mosi-oa-Tunya. Translated, that means the smoke that thunders.’

Callie stood gripped the railing in front of her and watched, utterly fascinated, as millions and millions of gallons of water thundered over the edge of the falls into a gorge over one hundred metres below them.

‘The Victoria Falls is known as the greatest curtain of falling water in the world,’ Finn told her, his face wet from the droplets of spray. ‘The spray can be seen from miles away at the height of the rainy season. Apparently more than five hundred million cubic metres of water per minute plummet over the edge, over a width of nearly two kilometres.’

‘Thank you, guidebook Finn,’ Callie said dryly.

Finn pushed his wet hair off his forehead. ‘It is an incredible sight, though, isn’t it?

‘It so is,’ Callie agreed.

Finn placed his forearms on the railing and lifted his head to squint up at her. ‘I wish we were here in winter,’ he said, with a pensive look on his face.

‘Why? Apart from the fact that it would be about a hundred degrees cooler than at the height of summer?’

Callie felt as if she was walking around in hot soup and she was melting from the inside out. Africa in late summer, early autumn, was still furnace-hot, she thought. And the towns of Livingstone and Victoria Falls, situated next to the massive river, had killer humidity as well. They were, she’d decided, minutes after landing in Livingstone, Zambia, three hours ago, after a chartered flight from the Baobab and Buffalo, standing above the devil’s boiler house.

‘Well, in winter, when the water levels are low, you can walk along the lip of the falls. There are rock pools there, and one is called the Devil’s Pool.’

That made sense, Callie thought. After stoking the fires of hell, Satan would want to cool down.

Then Finn’s words sank in and her eyes widened. ‘You can walk across….’ she waved at the massive falls behind her ‘… that?’

‘Well, there’d be a lot less water.’

‘That’s insane! People do this?’ Callie cried, her stomach clenching at the thought.

‘Sure. You walk across the rocks, swim through some pools, and then there’s this other pool, right at the lip of the falls. The rock lip stops you from going over.’

‘And you’d do that?’ Callie asked in a squeaky voice.

Finn shrugged. ‘Sure. It would be a kick.’

Callie closed her eyes. ‘That’s insane. It’s official: I’m sleeping with a mad man.’

Finn straightened and pushed a long wet strand of hair out of her eyes, tucked it behind her ear. ‘Talking of sleeping … This morning was so rushed we haven’t had a moment alone for me to ask—are you okay?’

Callie frowned. ‘Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘You said that it had been a while, and we did it a couple of times last night. You’re not sore or tired or—?’

Callie grinned, touched by his concern. She was a little stiff, a little uncomfortable, but she wasn’t about to admit that. ‘Finn, I’m twenty-eight—not a hundred and eight.’

‘Just checkin’.’ Finn rubbed his thumb over her cheekbone. ‘I had fun.’

Hoo-boy. So had she. ‘Me too.’

‘Want to do it again?’

Callie made sure that her tone was flippant, carefree. ‘Sure—since you’re marginally good at it.’

She put her tongue in her cheek to make sure that he knew that she was teasing.

In a flash Finn scooped her up into his arms and swung her towards the railing. ‘Can you swim?’ he asked, grinning down at her.

Callie wound her arms around his neck in a chokehold as she squealed hysterically. ‘Put me down, you jerk!’

Finn swung her towards the railing again. ‘Tell me I’m the greatest you’ve ever had.’

‘The best ever!’ Callie shouted in his ear, tightening her arms. ‘I promise!’

Finn finally allowed her legs to drop to the ground, but Callie kept her arms around his neck, peeking out from over his arm. His hands were running up and down her spine.

‘You were pretty spectacular yourself, Cal.’

Callie dropped her head back to look into his face. His eyes looked warm and tender, and his mouth—that wonderful mouth—was heading towards hers. She allowed him one brush, two, then a quick taste of her tongue before pulling back and stepping away. Sleeping with him was one thing, but the banter, the teasing, the outright affection had to be curtailed—or at the very least controlled. Or else they’d forget that their fake relationship was … well, fake, and they’d end up in all sorts of emotional trouble.

‘I don’t want a relationship,’ she stated baldly.

He met her eyes. ‘Me neither.’

She wanted to tell him that she really didn’t. She couldn’t allow her feelings to be engaged, couldn’t hand her heart over and trust its well-being to the hands of another person. As a little girl she’d done that. Her mum had been her entire world and she’d left. Just left.

I can’t and won’t allow myself to break the habit of a lifetime and fall for you in any way, shape or form, she told him silently.

She made herself smile at him. ‘Just so that you know: I am going to use you and abuse you, then callously toss you aside at the end of three weeks.’ I’m going to treat you like just another short-term prospect … some bed-based fun, she added silently. And that means no digging into the past, sharing secrets or stories. It means being sensible and unemotional and playing it super-cool.

Finn nodded. ‘Use, abuse and toss away. Got it.’ The corners of his eyes crinkled with laughter. ‘You are the most honest woman I’ve ever met, angel.’

He’d called her that before, and it sounded so natural that she wondered if he even knew he was doing it. Short-term lovers shouldn’t have nicknames, but she didn’t have the guts to ask him to stop. She rather liked it.

Callie looked down the gorge to the river, to what looked like a tiny speck on the water. Her attention captivated, she leaned forward and immediately felt Finn’s hand on her elbow, placed there for protection. She would have to be an idiot to lean far enough over to lose her balance and go headfirst down into the gorge, but Finn’s protective instinct warmed her from the inside out.

Don’t go there, Hollis. Use, abuse, toss.

‘Is that a boat?’ Callie asked, pointing to the river so very far below them.

‘Yep. That’s one of the white-water rafting boats.’ Finn nodded. ‘I want to do that tomorrow. Want to come with me?’

Callie twisted her lips. ‘That would be a no.’

But there was a tug of excitement in her belly—a wish that she could say yes, that she could experience the thrill of riding those rapids. She hadn’t done anything to make her adrenalin pound since she was a teenager who’d loved pushing the envelope.

And she wouldn’t. She’d promised Seb and her dad. But, damn, she’d loved it.

‘Aw, come on!’ Finn placed a hand on her back to steer her down the path, away from their lookout point.

‘You have more chance of being impregnated by a member of the zombie apocalypse.’ She leaned her shoulder into his. ‘You’d better not die. I’ll be narked if my holiday and my recently revived sex life is interrupted by having to ship you home in a body bag.’

Finn grinned at her. ‘No worries. It’s safe.’

‘It’s madness!’ Callie hissed.

But it wasn’t—it really wasn’t. It looked fun and exciting and thrilling, and she hoped Finn loved every second of it.

She knew that she would. Damn, she could just do it and they wouldn’t even know. But she’d promised. And promises couldn’t be broken, she reminded herself.